Golden
by ohneko
Summary: Follow Remus Lupin through his year as a Hogwarts professor as he faces his demons, comes to terms with his past and finally learns to move forward. Remuscentric, multiple pairings.
1. Prologue

Title: Golden  
Rating: mostly PG-13  
Summary: Follow Remus Lupin through his year as a Hogwarts professor as he faces his demons, comes to terms with his past and finally learns to move forward.  
Characters: Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Ginny Weasley, Lily (Evans) Potter, Harry Potter  
Pairings: past!Remus/Sirius, onesided!Remus/Lily, Remus/Ginny  
Setting: Year 3, primarily at Hogwarts  
Warnings: Some sexual themes and strong hints of May/December, though nothing too graphic  
Spoilers: PoA and beyond  
Word Count: 613

Author's Notes: Feedback and constructive criticism are definitely appreciated. I'm fairly new to fic writing, so don't be shy about letting me know what works and what doesn't. Reviews are love!

* * *

Looking back, it was probably her hair that did it. 

"Professor Lupin?"

The soft, shy voice, laced with insecurity dragged me from the issue of the Daily Prophet I had been reading scarcely a moment before. I glanced up, affixing a patient expression on my lined face, allowing the corners of my lips to perk up into something resembling a professor's disinterested smile, and then I saw her hair. Falling over her shoulders in a cascade of red, it gleamed as though infused with sunlight, despite the shadowy interior of my office.

"Yes?" I managed.

"I --" she shifted awkwardly, one foot to the other, and wrapped a coil of hair around her right index finger. For a moment, she seemed to be struggling with herself. Finally, she spoke. "I wanted to thank you," she told me. "For Harry. I mean --" she blushed, her cheeks flooded brilliant pink. "I mean, for protecting Harry." Her eyes scanned the floor. "I heard about what you did."

The events on the train rushed back to me and my hands shook slightly as I carefully folded the newspaper and set it down. I'd encountered Dementors before, of course, but I was rattled by the fierceness of their attack, the way they had broken ranks and attacked a young boy. _And not just any young boy_, I reminded myself. James and Lily's son, Harry. A young boy who had already seen too much.

Looking up at the girl before me, watching her bright eyes gleam with appreciation and discomfort, I felt a rush of familiarity. I knew I had seen her before, but I could not place her. Her hair, of course, reminded me of a young Lily, and I was distantly aware of schoolboy memories: of running after Lily across the wide, green lawn near the rippling surface of the lake; later, watching her as she perched under a familiar tree with a dark-haired and pale Severus Snape, exploring advanced Potions manuals. However, although I recognised her, I could not place the child before me.

As if I had spoken my confusion, she smiled a little, shrugging thin shoulders. "I've met you before," she began. "I think so, anyway. I'm Ginny, Ginny Weasley."

"Ah, Ginevra," I smiled, the thoughtful crease in my forehead smoothing. I had not seen her since she was a young child, perhaps six or seven. From my subconscious rose a recollection of her racing across the yard of the Burrow in pursuit of an anonymous brother, a child's toy wand in hand and her hair streaking behind her in a rippled flag. She looked far more subdued now, a bit wan in fact, her face rather pale beneath the rose blush staining her cheeks. Instead of the faded cotton shift of memory, she was wearing an overly large set of regulation robes, inherited, no doubt, from a bring and fly sale or an elder brother. The long hem of the robes obscured all but the toes of her battered shoes.

"Are your parents well?" I questioned, clearing my throat and glancing away when she caught me looking her over. My fingers plucked at a quill and I spread out a roll of parchment, pretending to be busy with professional duties, despite the fact that classes would not begin until tomorrow, and I had no tasks left for this evening aside from obtaining a good night's sleep.

She nodded, her expression reserved. "I think so." She picked at imaginary lint on her sleeve before turning to go. "I better get back to the feast," she offered, and then, without waiting for my reply, she walked away, closing the heavy wooden door behind her.

* * *

New updates should be posted every Friday or Saturday, with the exception of the next chapter, which is already up. Current chapters and other fic can be found on my livejournal (see profile). Reviews are appreciated:) 


	2. Chapter One

Title: Golden  
Rating: mostly PG-13  
Summary: Follow Remus Lupin through his year as a Hogwarts professor as he faces his demons, comes to terms with his past and finally learns to move forward.  
Characters: Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Ginny Weasley, Lily (Evans) Potter, Harry Potter  
Pairings: past!Remus/Sirius, onesided!Remus/Lily, Remus/Ginny  
Setting: Year 3, primarily at Hogwarts  
Warnings: Some sexual themes and strong hints of May/December, though nothing too graphic  
Spoilers: PoA and beyond  
Word Count: 613

Author's Notes: Feedback and constructive criticism are definitely appreciated. I'm fairly new to fic writing, so don't be shy about letting me know what works and what doesn't. Reviews are love!

* * *

I saw her again the very next day. Reserved, she moved through the crowd of students independently, clutching her Defense Against the Dark Arts text to her chest like a shield to ward off the curious glances of her friends and peers. I remembered her as an affable, if independent, little girl, with a stubborn, pouting mouth and defiant eyes. This Ginny seemed the victim of some recent tragedy or humiliation. Her face bore no expression save for apology; her cloistered gestures and stern posture seemed to be begging me not to look at her. At the time, I had no reasons for it. 

Clearing my throat, I stepped in front of the assembled second-year Gryffindors and Slytherins. A number of eyes looked my way impassively, though I saw a few bright, rapt faces in the crowd. A number of students observed me through slitted eyes, and I felt myself swallowing my nervousness. I was at Hogwarts; I had always loved Hogwarts. Although my boyhood home had been a good one and I had lived comfortably with my family - unlike Sirius, for instance - I had immediately found a second home here, and tried to let the familiar atmosphere permeate me. Tension drained from my shoulders.

"Good morning," I began, to lacklustre response, and rustled through my notes to cover up my shaking hands.

I scarcely remember what the lesson was about, now, only that by the end of it, a number of the students filing out the door had grins on their faces, and a few waved farewell as they took their leave. My first lesson of the day had gone over well; I was a success as a teacher.

Ginny was one of the last to leave. One of her quills had rolled off the table onto the floor, and I picked it up and handed it over. I watched her carefully rolling her notes onto a battered-looking scroll and gingerly pocketing her ink bottle before she raised her eyes to me.

"Thank you," she mumbled, frowning slightly, lost in thought.

"Is everything okay?" I asked, watching her furtive eyes as she scanned the classroom. She seemed unwilling to look at my face, as though she had something to hide.

"Uh huh," she nodded, her eyes settling on the dragon skeleton above, which leered down at us through empty eye sockets, all sharp-edged, sun-bleached bones. She paused, clutching her quill. "What's the assignment again?"

She had passed the class period with her chin resting in the palm of her hand, blankly watching as my notes scattered themselves across the blackboard in my usual slanted penmanship. I'd thought she had been reading, or else simply following along with my introductory lecture, but it seemed she had not been paying attention at all. The whites of her eyes were a little red, as if she had been rubbing them.

"No homework," I answered, with a heartier smile than I intended.

"Oh, okay. Good."

* * *

In the beginning, Ginny scarcely occupied my thoughts at all. I had a significant number of other students to worry about, after all. My days became consumed with a scarcely interrupted routine of aiding the stragglers, praising my advanced students and staying up late into the evening to grade ink-spotted essays by the light of a single candle and the crescent moon.

Often, in my free moments, my thoughts drifted back to the past and my legs followed the trails of my youth, winding through shadowy hallways and the secret passages I had discovered with James, Sirius and Peter. I strode across the lawn and the edge of the Forbidden Forest, so lost in thought that I could almost see my boyhood mates rushing past me, howling with the delight of our amusements, eagerly whispering plans for the latest prank. _There was James_, I sometimes thought, _tall and lean and awkward, like a tree shoot reaching for the sun, his glasses askew and his hair perpetually mussed._ I could almost hear his voice, deep and smooth and bass as he mumbled fantasies about the nubile Gryffindor girls._ There was Peter, low and scurrying, a manic grin on his face and his blonde hair plastered to his pink forehead._ I listened for his snicker. And Sirius, always Sirius looming up in my mind; dark and angular, his eyes alight with compulsive mischief, his warm hand on my back between the jutting shoulder blades, his voice speaking my name with a sound so real the hairs on the back of my neck and arms stood to attention._"Oh, Remus"_. I pushed away his memory, burning with anger and sick with betrayal, an odd straining sensation in my groin.

One night, I found myself standing in front of the entrance to Gryffindor tower, face to face with the Fat Lady in her frame. I bluffed my way in on some pretense; it was not difficult, she remembered me and swung kindly forward, granting me admittance.

The place had changed much since I had last been an occupant, and yet so much remained the same. A number of threadbare chairs had been replaced with newer models, and the fire grate seemed to have a different shape than I remembered, but the smell was the same, a lingering mixture of girlish perfume and stinging broomstick polish. Owing to the lateness of the hour, hardly anyone was about. A sixth year dosed in one chair, and a young couple necked discreetly against the banister leading to the boy's dormitory. Only one student raised her head to me, a studious girl with auburn hair and a pragmatic expression on her curious face.

"Professor," greeted Hermione Granger kindly.

I was only beginning to learn the names of my students, though of course, Hermione stood out in memory for a number of reasons, namely her friendship with Harry and her own brilliant mind.

"'Evening," I commented, glancing down at the stack of books before her. She appeared to be writing a Transfiguration essay, and her wand lay next to her, beside a discarded silver cup. "Burning the midnight oil, I see."

She shrugged, modestly. "Well, you know," she murmured demurely, her fingertips exploring a book cover. "I want to do my best."

"You're an excellent student, Hermione," I offered, charmed by her dedication to her studies. I remembered my own fervent desire to succeed, the way I often took a ribbing from James and Sirius about my need to linger in dusty library corners when there was perfect Quidditch weather outside. How she could manage to allot so much time to the books while being close friends with Harry and Ron Weasley, I was not sure, but I gave her a smile anyway. "Don't forget to get some rest," I advised, leaving the Gryffindor stronghold and moving back down the staircase towards my own quarters.

Halfway down, I was met by Ginny.

She gave a startled "oh!" when she saw me, and immediately her hands flew to her hair, a nervous gesture she seemed to have adopted. Instead of her school robes she was in a threadbare pink dressing gown. The sleeves were too short, exposing her forearms and wrists. Her feet were bare against the cold stone.

"Ginny?"

"I -- I'm sorry, Professor," she blurted, flustered. Her hair was a bit frizzy and her dressing gown seemed slightly askew, and for a moment I assumed she had met a beau in some secret corner of the school and was just now returning from her rendezvous. However, she was a bit young for that sort of thing, and in any case, her face betrayed no interrupted passion or daydreaming. Her eyes were red again, and there were crimson splotches high on her cheeks, as if she had been crying. A faint salt tang clung to her skin.

"It's a bit late to be running around the school, isn't it?" I questioned, trying for a tone of equal firmness and light-hearted ease. "Where have you been?"

Miserable, she stared at my shoes. "I'm sorry," she gasped, urgently, and her throat seemed constricted against another sob. "I'm going back right now."

"Just a minute, please, Ginny." Beckoning her to follow, I walked down to a landing where I was sure we would not be overheard. Motioning for her to sit down, I lowered myself to a stair. She stood before me, her hands clutching the rail as if expecting to be pushed. "What is going on?"

"Nothing!" she burst out urgently, shaking her head back and forth so that her hair flew wildly.

With a disappointed frown, I gave her my best teacher's stare. "Am I to assume you met up with friends? Perhaps" -- I guessed from my own experiences -- "a number of you struck out to Hogsmeade?"

She fixed me with a level gaze, her face serious. "Of course not, Professor," she informed me, her tone innocent. "It's just --"

"Yes?"

"I just needed to think about some things," she explained patiently, a half-truth. Finally, she sat down on the step as far from me as she could, angling her body away from mine. "I needed some privacy. It won't happen again," she promised.

"I'm glad to hear it, but I'd still like to help if I can," I offered. I watched her, sitting with her hands over her face, her posture demonstrating a clear desire to be left alone, and thought of Lily one time when I found her in similar circumstances just moments after overhearing an argument between her and Snape. I had not left Lily, however, and I preferred not to leave Ginny to her distress either. "May I ask what's bothering you? Are you being harassed?"

"Nothing like that," emerged her muted voice, grief stricken. Her back and shoulders shook a little, from contained sobs.

"Please tell me."

Silence remained for a few long moments. I was just on the verge of standing up and excusing Ginny to her dormitory when she finally spoke. "I've made a fool of myself."

I opened my mouth to reply, but was interrupted as she continued.

"I was so stupid. To keep writing in it, to even pick it up after I saw what happened. Dad always said you couldn't trust anything that thought for itself unless you could see where it kept it's brain, and still --" she sniffed, elaborately. "I was just so lonely," she cried, her voice leaking sorrow, begging for absolution. "Homesick, and _he_ would hardly look my way."

I was bemused, and said so. "I'm afraid I'm missing something, Ginny."

She set her hands in her lap and shook her head slowly, thoughtfully. "Last year, I found a diary among my schoolbooks," she explained. Her breathing was shallow. "It was blank. I thought maybe Dad had bought it for me, except I guess I should have known he hadn't. He never said anything about it, and it was sort of battered, second-hand."

"Go on."

"I -- I started writing in it a few days after I arrived here. I was lonely. I missed my parents. My brothers ignored me. It was hard for me to make friends. At first, I thought it was a normal diary, but pretty soon -- it started writing back." Her voice shook, and I detected fear beneath the sadness. "I should have thrown it away then, I know, or told someone, but he seemed so nice, so understanding."

"He?" I asked, concerned.

"Tom," she gasped, and hiccuped as though the name still frightened her. "I told him everything, how I felt, what was bothering me. I told him about -- about Harry." The name escaped her lips laden with meaning, spoken like a sigh, the childish crush painfully obvious in the reverent, needful tone. "He seemed interested - Tom, I mean - and after a while all I could think about during the day was running back to my dorm and writing to him."

"Eventually, though, he started to scare me. The things he said -- sometimes they were so cruel. He asked me to do things for him, things that would have gotten me into so much trouble if I'd been found out, and there were times I could hardly remember what I'd done at all. I felt like a completely different person." Her hands trembled and I patted her wrist comfortingly. "I tried to get rid of the diary. I threw it away a number of times. It kept coming back, and then once, Harry found it. I was mortified. I thought for sure, he would learn about everything, about my crush." Ginny's cheeks burned with embarrassment as she went on. "I took the diary back."

"And you're concerned," I said, speculating. "That Harry may have read it?"

By her expression, I could tell I was off the mark. "Haven't you heard," she demanded. "About what happened here last year? The Chamber of Secrets?"

I searched my memory of the previous year and placed myself in Romania, far beyond the reach of the British press and Hogwarts gossip. Nonetheless, the name sounded vaguely familiar to me, as though I had heard the place mentioned in past rumours. "Tell me."

"The Chamber was opened! There was a monster in it, people got petrified and everything; we were lucky no one was killed. Harry -- Harry killed the monster inside, the basilisk."

"I hadn't heard," I mentioned dully, with a pang of sympathy for Harry, who had already faced so much. I thought of James, and ached. "But what did that have to do with you?"

"It was me who opened it," she blurted out, and the tears sprang from her eyes in rivers. Beside her, I felt myself jump at the admission. Her grief and fear was palpable. "They say I was possessed, by the spirit in the diary." Raising her gaze to my face, she asked mournfully, "Do you know who Tom really was?" When I shook my head, she bit her lower lip. "Tom Riddle."

An electric shock bolted through my body, sizzling my nerves. I'd heard the name before, of course, as a member of the Order of the Phoenix; Dumbledore had once used it, probably to ease our fears of the man who called himself Lord. "But, Tom Riddle is --"

"Voldemort," she interrupted, speaking the taboo name. Her chin quivered as she backpedaled. "You-Know-Who." Her words faded as tears overcame her. For a long moment she cried, her entire body quaking with grief, remorse and terror. I wanted to comfort her, but I hardly knew her; I patted her hand, my fingers on her knuckles, and did not draw away when she clutched my hand spasmodically.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, fifteen minutes later, when the tears had dried up.

"It's okay."

She affixed me with a wavery smile, her eyes shrouded with tears that clung to her lower lashes. "You're the first person I've told," she explained after a moment. "Aside from my family. Harry knows, of course. I think the Headmaster explained it to him. I feel," she paused, drawing a deep breath. "I feel a bit better now."

My heart leapt a little, and I felt momentarily worthwhile, a sensation I had not been acquainted with since before James and Lily's deaths. "I'm glad. Do you think you'll be able to sleep?"

"Yes." She rose from the stairs gracefully. "Thank you, Professor Lupin."

"Remus," I countered. "Outside of class, you can call me Remus." At the time, I scarcely knew why I said it, aside from the fact that she had shared one of her deepest secrets with me, and that had created a bond. Somewhere in my subconscious mind, I must have registered the affect of her soft halo of hair, so like Lily's as it brushed my arm. I could smell the sweetness of her shampoo and feel the heat of her body due to our proximity, but I would swear upon the graves of my dead friends, all of them, that at the time, I scarcely noticed my feelings at all.

"Goodnight, Remus," she said, giving me a quick wave as she climbed the stairs. The skin around her eyes was pink and puffy from crying, but she looked lovely nonetheless, and far more at peace than I had yet seen her.

"Goodnight, Ginny," I called back with artificial ease, and stayed rooted to the stair, watching her go until her slim figure blended with the evening shadows and she faded from sight.

* * *

New updates will be posted every Friday or Saturday. Feedback is appreciated. :) 


	3. Chapter Two

Title: GoldenRating: mostly PG-13  
Summary: Follow Remus Lupin through his year as a Hogwarts professor as he faces his demons, comes to terms with his past and finally learns to move forward.  
Characters: Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Ginny Weasley, Lily (Evans) Potter, Harry Potter  
Pairings: past!Remus/Sirius, onesided!Remus/Lily, Remus/Ginny  
Setting: Year 3, primarily at Hogwarts  
Warnings: Some sexual themes and strong hints of May/December, though nothing too graphic  
Spoilers: PoA and beyond  
Word Count: 2,613  
Author's Notes: Feedback and constructive criticism are definitely appreciated. I'm fairly new to fic writing, so don't be shy about letting me know what works and what doesn't. Reviews are love! Thanks to WrenBailey for the review!

* * *

I thought of Romania often as the September days darkened and the autumn winds picked up speed, howling fiercely over the moors. Loose leaves were tossed across the wide expanse of grass before the castle; a number managed to be blown inside by the breeze and crunched underfoot, leaving a patch of dust for Filch to mutter about.

I had initially departed for Romania the week after James and Lily's deaths. The scope of Sirius' betrayal seemed beyond my comprehension, and it made my mind ache with resistance and misery to even contemplate his madness. Had there been someone left to talk to, I might have endured, but James and Lily were dead at Voldemort's hand, Peter at Sirius's, or so I then believed. The man himself, Sirius Black, my one-time lover, was in Azkaban, far from my reach.

I trudged through London for sleepless days after hearing the awful news. Utterly silent, my face white and my hair unkept, shivering in threadbare Muggle jackets, I moved like a phantom through the Underground, shying away from the magical world and all of its inhabitants. Of all the ghosts that haunted me, Sirius was the most persistent. His scent clung to me, inescapable; no matter how often I bathed, I smelled him on my skin. Whenever I closed my eyes I could hear his urgent whisper, and smell the acrid smoke from the destroyed Potter house.

Perhaps it was Dumbledore who suggested the trip to me, a few days after the murders. He was the one who arranged it, in any case. The world at that time seemed steeped in chaos; there were widespread celebrations in honour of Harry's survival, but also persistent doubt about the destruction of Voldemort, and many wizards remained in mourning for James and Lily and the others who had been lost to the Dark Lord's ranks. There were also little knots of devoted Death Eaters who, for a short time before the Ministry rallied and cracked down, continued their tradition of murder and terror. Though for the most part joyous, England was a suspicious place during the months following Voldemort's apparent demise. Witches and Wizards who had endured terror for over a decade viewed any outside their community as threats, and as a werewolf, not to mention one with definite ties to Sirius Black, I had already begun feeling the persecution.

There is little I remember of the first weeks in Romania. A memory of my cramped flat swims to mind, distorted like an image viewed from under water. The pale blue paint was peeled away in some places, exposing ancient woodwork. There was a battered metal furnace that grew too hot to touch yet scarcely warmed the place at all. I huddled there a lot, in hiding from the world, my life reduced to a small twin bed covered with faded, mismatched quilts. Days would pass and I would scarcely stir except to procure a cup of hot, flavourless coffee or gnaw some stale chocolate biscuits in hopes of stoking my nonexistent appetite. I cried, persistently, clutching rumpled photographs of my deceased friends, intermittently furious with Sirius and yet longing for the warmth of his body again.

Eventually, time passed and my grief, though still overwhelming, was framed, allowing me to function. On Dumbledore's orders, I infiltrated a group of Eastern European werewolves but found little to report. These werewolves were not Voldemort loyalists, though their views on Muggles were similar and the few literate ones could identify him in paper clippings. Rather, their main concern was blood and flesh on which to feed, coupled with rights for our kind, particularly the right to run amok and kill at will. On random dark nights, they hunted the lonely streets on the edge of Bucharest in search of solitary prostitutes and faceless runaways. I devoted a great deal of time to this work, feigning interest in the spilt blood, memorising the most minute details of my acquaintances in the underground in order to forget the faces of my lost friends. At the time, my sorrow was so complete, I barely suffered pangs of remorse for the killing I was required to take part in. It was only with the youngest streetwalkers, who had pert, pale faces made garish with lipstick, that I hesitated at all.

It was in silent contemplation one late afternoon that Ginny found me.

"Professor? Ah – Remus?"

"Yes?" I looked up from my desk, stowing my moon phase calendars under a sheaf of recent student essays. "Ginevra. Everything okay?"

She nodded sincerely. I'd witnessed the recent transition in her life. Ginny had begun to emerge from the protective shell she had kept around herself at the start of term. Occasionally, I would see her walking in the halls with a gaggle of uniformed schoolgirls, or even unfolding and reading flirtatious notes from boys in class, always with an amused, wistful smile on her face.

"Yes. I was just wondering, er --"

I waited, letting her gaze around the room, admiring the grindylow in its tank.

"I wondered if you would give me some lessons," she said, after a few seconds. "Defense lessons," she clarified further, with a studious frown as though to inform me of the seriousness of the request. Her hands hung limply from her wrists, betraying neither hope or urgency. She seemed to have paid a bit of attention to her lacklustre robes, however, and had turned her precocious second year's knowledge to sprucing them up. The faded colour had been restored to fresh black, and the hem had been sewn, though from the looks of it, by hand instead of magic. She hovered prettily near the desk, her lips pale pink and pursed thoughtfully.

"Well," I considered. "You aren't my star student, Ginny," I told her, thinking of Hermione Granger's hand shooting into the air with perfect confidence, "but you are progressing nicely, and your marks are some of the highest in the second year class. I really don't feel you need to dedicate a lot of extra time to this subject, though, of course, if you really want a tutor I can ask one of the older students to --"

" -- no. No." Crossing her arms in front of her chest, she grimaced. "I'm not talking about studying the theory, or brushing up for exams. You know what happened" – she peered over her shoulder as though concerned someone could be listening through the thick door – "before. I wasn't able to protect myself from him. I didn't understand what _he _was."

"The school does have a duelling team," I explained. "While you are too young to join, I'm sure they would be more than happy to assist you in learning a few basic manoeuvres. Or, of course, you could always turn to the duelling club for practise." Images of Sirius, a flash of his white smile as blue flame erupted from his wand, rose up in my memory, unbidden. They had been the staring members of the club, James and Sirius had, both eager combatants in the mock battles as Peter and I watched in silence from the sidelines.

She sighed, sinking down to sit on one of the abandoned desks. "Yes, I know about that," she informed me, dismissive. Her eyes begged me to understand. "I've considered joining before. I'm rather good at the minor jinxes already. But this is different. I need to know what it was I faced, what Tom Riddle was, and how to defend myself from that type of thing. You're the only one who can help me." She stared at me sternly, and I could see her mother's impatience brooding behind her eyes. "Professor, I've never heard of ghosts that behaved like he did. I've never come across another enchanted diary or even read about one in books. I know this is more than an ordinary spell – it has to be, doesn't it? After all, it was _him – Voldemort._"

She gave me a look that requested answers but hurried on before I could speak. "When my parents first found out about all this, my father started to say something, but my mother interrupted him. They've never spoken of it further. Can you tell me?"

A word shimmered to mind and paused on my tongue. _Horcruxes_, came the distant thought and with it a momentary fright. Of those Dark things, I had never been taught. The subject had never been mentioned in school, not even in my advanced NEWT Defence Against the Dark Arts courses. I had only ever heard of them because of Sirius and James, the perpetual explorers. They had stolen a book from the library on the subject of Dark Arts once, and perused it with thinly disguised fascination coupled with horror. Horcruxes, I thought, a soul, cut in half, a momentary red gush of blood and the bright green flare of murdering light. Looking at the girl before me, I pursed my lips decidedly.

"I'm aware," I said carefully, "of such things, but I'm afraid there isn't a great deal I can teach you about the subject. Objects like Tom Riddle's diary are exceedingly rare." Perhaps nonexistent, I hoped, but did not say. "Unfortunately, there is not a significant body of knowledge about these topics, but in this case, I'd advise you not to trouble yourself over it. Concern yourself with the practical aspects of Defence, such as protective and shielding spells, all of which, it so happens, the Hogwarts duelling club specialises in."

Ginny affixed me with a dark look. "But you don't understand. I still dream about him. I have nightmares about the things he's done, the things I told him." She paled a little, and smoothed her robes. "I can't leave it be, I have to know what it was, exactly. I understand it's something Dark," she added shrewdly. "That's why you can't teach me, isn't it? Won't you just tell me what it is? I can do the research alone."

She was too young, her freckled skin gleaming pearly in the faint light from the cloudy sky. There was nothing I could tell her; how could she, or anyone, hope to duel a Horcrux or fight evil that significant?

I looked out the window at the gathering clouds. It was too early for the moon to be visible, but I thought I could see it anyway, just a faint white outline against the grey horizon. It was nearly full, and its beckoning call sang in my blood, leading a chorus of a thousand wolves all howling for liberation.

"I'm sorry." I stated firmly. "Ginny," -- I raised a hand as she started to leave, huddled in disappointment – "I can't explain to you what happened with the diary. I'm not entirely sure about that myself, but I can help you in your studies, if you wish, maybe even show you a few jinxes that will be of use the next time you're faced with a problem." I thought of Lily's killer Bat Bogey hex with a pang of loss.

Her face brightened a little. "Really? You would do that?"

"Absolutely," I answered, intrigued by her eyes as she affixed her gaze to my face, searching for promise. "My schedule is a bit cluttered at the moment, but Thursday nights will work, at least for the time being. After supper, then?"

She scampered off with a smile on her face, leaving me to my thoughts. I watched the robes swirl around her legs in a cloud of black. Her hair swung down her back as she took her leave. Briefly, I calculated her age; twelve, perhaps thirteen. Not a day more, surely and hence too young for the darker, more serious curses; Sectumsempra, the first to flit to mind, would be far beyond her reach.

A resolute knock came, the sound of sharp knuckles against the door. It was not Ginny, I knew, as I waved my wand to open it. Severus Snape stood in the doorway, a challenging sneer on his pale lips, his black eyes fiery. Lank strands of hair lay across his forehead, framing his thin face. His robes hung overly large, obscuring his form beneath them.

"At Dumbledore's request," he explained sharply, drawing my attention to a number of clear vials. "I trust you are familiar with the dosage, Lupin?" he questioned, drawling the name with a mocking lilt.

"Yes, I am," I answered. Severus hardly looked different from the days when I had known him as a boy. His clothes still seemed ill-fitting and his form was awkward, though he now possessed a certain grace and certainly had much better posture. His mouth was set, locked in annoyance and undisguised frustration. I had heard the rumours of how badly he wanted my job, and wondered how disappointed he must have been to learn who exactly had stolen the cherished position from him.

"Thank you, Severus," I added cordially, expecting him to set the phials on an empty desk and go.

Instead, he remained and came closer, stepping across the room until he was inches from my desk. He dropped the phials onto the papered surface with a thin tinkling sound. His smirk was maddening, stirring tension into the air, which I pretended to ignore as I again withdrew my lunar calendar and begin marking the times I would be absent from class.

"Something else perhaps, Severus?" I questioned lightly after enduring his stare for a few moments.

His eyes narrowed into onyx slits. "I don't trust you," he announced, studying my face for the least betrayal of guilt. "Dumbledore may believe you have severed your old ties, but I don't, not for a minute. It's no coincidence Sirius Black escaped at the same time you came back here."

"Interesting viewpoint, Severus. The same could be said of you." My voice remained mild, almost emotionless, but my eyes challenged him. "Where do your loyalties lie, Snape? Are you a devoted member of staff, or have you merely gone into hiding in the absence of your leader?"

He blanched a bit at my frankness, and I went on. "I know you were a Death Eater. I know you participated in death and destruction. I have no doubt that you were there the night James and Lily died. There is blood on your hands," I pronounced.

He turned a shade whiter, his dark hair and eyes contrasting with the utter pallor of his skin. His mouth hung open slightly, betraying shock, while his eyes glistened with a momentary, undisguised pain. At the time, I believed the hurt was for Voldemort, for the death of his precious cause, and not for the loss of a loved one. He blinked his glittering eyes.

"No more so than on your own, werewolf," he spat. His hands trembled and he coiled them into fists. "I'll be watching you," he informed me tightly, and hurried out, slamming the door so loudly it echoed down the stone chamber.

Finally, I allowed my shoulders to stoop. My tight muscles collapsed and I sank my head down onto the blotter, burying my face in the crook of my elbow. My shoulders shook with tears that I struggled to contain. No one had spoken Sirius's name to me in years; just the sound of it made me ache as though stabbed. I thought I could hear his voice, an urgent whisper, like the sounds he once made as we lay beneath rough sheets, believing ourselves perpetual youth, before the talk of traitors and danger emerged. I thought of his black hair, worn long like Severus' and yet so different, silky under my hand. I believed I could hear his careless laugh, through my own sobs.


	4. Chapter Three

Title: Golden

Rating: mostly PG-13

Summary: Follow Remus Lupin through his year as a Hogwarts professor as he faces his demons, comes to terms with his past and finally learns to move forward.

Characters: Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Ginny Weasley, Lily (Evans) Potter, Harry Potter

Pairings: past!Remus/Sirius, onesided!Remus/Lily, Remus/Ginny

Setting: Year 3, primarily at Hogwarts

Warnings: Some sexual themes and strong hints of May/December, though nothing too graphic

Spoilers: PoA and beyond

Word Count: 1,892

Author's Notes: This chapter has some graphic sexuality, specifically masturbation; proceed with caution if that squicks you. Feedback and constructive criticism are definitely appreciated. I'm fairly new to fic writing, so don't be shy about letting me know what works and what doesn't. Reviews are love!

* * *

She stood before me, a petite second-year in a hand-me-down dress. Red-gold plaits seemed to reflect the light from the crackling fire, and her eyes gleamed scarlet in the shadows as she held her wand out at a challenging angle, pointing it directly at my heart.

"Mordenda," I pronounced, carefully articulating the word. My own wand was curled in my fingers, non-threatening, and only sparked like struck flint at the mention of the hex.

"Mordenda," Ginny pronounced, perfectly this time, and a sudden bolt of silver lightning struck me like a sucker-punch, forcing me to back away a few steps. As quickly as it had come, the lightning faded, leaving the scent of ozone in its wake. Ginny frowned deeply, her fingers clutching her wand with renewed vigor as she faced me, jaw set and determined.

Holding up one hand, I motioned for her to stop. "I think that's enough for one night," I offered. We had been practicing a number of shield spells for over an hour, though admittedly the time had flown by. Outside, the moon hovered low against a backdrop of grey clouds, emitting a creamy yellow light that signified the time for harvest. It seemed overly large and beckoning, swollen fat with the season and proximity. All but a slim crescent was visible, and I felt my pulse quicken as the reflection of it hit my irises. Only a few days remained, I knew, until I would have to again face my demons.

"Once more," Ginny insisted, and called out the spell forcefully before I could properly brace myself. With a silver flash, I was thrust rapidly backwards and hit the wall painfully, collapsing onto the floor in an injured heap.

"Oh, Remus!" Her wand clattered to the floor as she ran over to me, the colour draining from her skin. The scatter of freckles on her cheeks stood out in bright contrast, and I noticed her hair had come undone from the braids by the force of the spell. Energy crackled through her hair, riding on the surface of her skin as she held out a delicate hand. "I'm so sorry! Are you all right?"

Rising to my feet, I forced a shame-faced grin. "I think so," I told her, rubbing absently at the back of my skull. A dull pounding ache resounded under my fingertips, and I knew that, within hours, a bruise would form. "No harm done," I assured her as she watched me fearfully. Picking the discarded wand off of the floor, I handed it to her. "Excellent work, really, Ginevra. You've done yourself proud."

"Ginny," she reminded me softly, combing her hair smooth with her fingers. She stowed the wand in her dress, unconvinced. "Are you really okay?"

"Nothing that won't mend," I promised, thinking of the call of the moon. The autumn wind screamed outside in the voice of a woman, or a wolf, and I disguised my trembling hands by stuffing them into my pockets. In a few day's time, I knew, I would look far worse. Even the Wolfsbane left me with only threads of humanity; my sanity hung tenuously on those wild nights, and in my memories I had brief impressions of running full-tilt through forests, my furred skin snagging on brambles.

She relaxed slightly as I offered a reassuring smile. "Okay," she agreed, her own smile lighting the room. Pride flickered visibly in her eyes. "It worked," she reminded me, with sudden enthusiasm. "Thank you."

"Of course." I sat down gingerly in my high-backed chair. "You are progressing nicely," I told her. "I'd recommend you to the duelling club any day."

Her laugh was sweet, and I felt the tension in my shoulders drain away slightly as I watched her gather up her items, stowing her manuals in a tattered old bag I'd once seen Charlie carry. "Well," she said demurely. "I do have six older brothers. I guess I've learned a bit about defending myself." Shouldering the bag, she strode over to my desk. Her hand brushed against my wrist as she patted me. "Are you sure you're all right? I feel terrible," she said, despite the satisfaction visible on her face.

Her touch sent shivers up of arm and down my spine, as though setting my nerves alight. I tore my hand out of her grasp too quickly; she looked hurt and dismayed by my reaction, probably blaming herself for the strength of her curse, unaware of the jolt of feeling her skin had caused. "Goodnight," she called hastily, her eyes avoiding mine.

"Ginny -- wait --" I called out, rising from the chair, but it was too late. The door swung forward on creaking hinges, stifling my voice.

For a moment, I entertained the notion of following her. I wanted to explain, but even as I debated it, I knew she was too young to understand my reasoning, my reaction. She must have thought I no longer trusted her, after the uncontrolled backlash of magic. How was I to explain the complicated notions of a woman's touch, or to tell her how a certain direct look from her blazing eyes reminded me so much of Lily that my innards squirmed with anticipation and stunned delight? I supposed I'd known since the very beginning of term the effect she had on me, the way she conjured up Lily's spirit in almost perfect imitation, but I'd lied to myself. My sensibilities were offended; the idea of a grown man, a professor at that, enchanted with a child was a sick one. I was repulsed at myself. My skin crawled at the slight hint of arousal she had inspired in me.

My thoughts flew onward, to Sirius. Lily's sparkling emerald eyes faded in the wake of Sirius's sombre grey. I thought of his smooth ripples of hair, the flex of his muscles beneath perpetually bronzed skin. Lily was the innocent crush of my childhood; Sirius was my adolescent lover. Something stirred deep within me as I remembered his hands roaming my body, caressing my face, rushing to unbutton my trousers. Despite the deep hatred that had all but burned away my lingering love for him, Sirius' memory called to my body, piquing my arousal in spite of myself.

One hand flew to my trousers now, a thumb pressed against my own crotch as my other hand waved my wand haphazardly, flinging closed the bolt on the door. I wanted privacy, and had it. The candles on my desk snuffed themselves out on their own accord, leaving only the forgiving light of the waning fire.

Unbuttoning my clothes, I shoved my robes aside fiercely. My sharp teeth bit down on my lower lip, stilling a rough sound from my throat and drawing a hint of blood. The copper scent infiltrated my nostrils as I heaved, drawing breath, exposing my skin to the cool darkness of my classroom. My hands roamed over my cock, tightening as my breath was reduced to quick, fervent pants. I closed my eyes, murmuring Sirius' name, picturing his languorous smile and pearly teeth as I stroked myself. My lungs seemed to constrict, and Sirius' image faded as a waft of smoke. In its place was Ginny's face, the eyes brooding, her lips petal pink. I cried out something incoherent at the thought, an apology and exclamation of disgust, coupled with a lustful moan, and came abruptly, my hips bucking against the hard wooden chair.

"God," came my ragged breath. My lungs burned as if I had inhaled frozen air and run for miles. My throat felt raw, almost painful. Weakness pervaded my muscles.

For a moment I simply leaned back against the chair, my eyes closed and my face directed towards the ceiling. My mind whirled, trying to make sense of the sudden female image that had entered my mind at the moment of climax. Women were foreign to my fantasies, had always been, despite my adoration of Lily. She had remained pure and untainted in my mind, resigned forever to a land where hand holding reigned supreme, and where the thought of even the most chaste kiss stained my cheeks red with blush. Surely, I felt, Ginny had no place in such fantasies. Her body was no longer completely childish, but her youth was off-putting. And there was nothing -- nothing, I insisted to myself angrily -- erotic about the thought of her.

With a deep frown, I opened my eyes, intending to clean up and put my classroom to rights before retiring for the evening, but I quickly saw the classroom was not empty. A shadowy form hovered near the doorway. For a horrible moment, I thought it might be Ginny, and I burned with humiliation, but the shape was too large to be a student, and was dressed entirely in black.

Severus Snape smirked at me as he stepped forward. "My, my," he commented mildly in his silky voice.

"I --" I began, and quickly fell silent. There was no explanation for my actions, even if he hadn't seen Ginny leave just moments before. Shame burned my skin.

His eyes bore into mine, and I could almost feel the invasion as he attempted to read the truth from my mind. I recoiled, trying to push him away, but his Legilimency skills were legend even in our days as students, and he had lost none of his ability. He tore through my defences easily, and withdrew, scowling, plainly disappointed that he had not found a store of illicit fantasy.

"Black," he spat, his face filled with hatred. He sneered down at me, shaking his head softly. "Even a werewolf could have done better than Sirius Black," he informed me haughtily, revulsion plain on his face. His gaze settled at my hands, on my open trousers revealing y-fronts. I hastily buttoned up, like a child caught committing some infraction. "To think, I used to imagine you and Lily --" his hands clutched involuntarily into fists, and the blue veins stood out in his pale skin. "The way she always spoke of you," he went on, not looking at me, as though staring back into some daydream. His teeth were clenched and his eyes shone, unreadable. "I often suspected the two of you were an item. Apparently," he breathed, recovering somewhat. "My jealousy was unfounded."

"Not entirely," I reminded him, when I was capable of speech. He rounded on me and I continued. "She married James."

The shrug looked foreign to his body. "Only later," he retorted easily, but his voice was strained. "She was beautiful," he murmured, gently, with a certain lightness of his voice. At the time, I did not recognize the pain for what it was, and thought him guilty of lust. "Kind." With a frown, he countered me with an insult. "I can see why you're drawn to the Weasley girl. She is so like Lily; her mannerisms, her hair. I've noticed it myself."

"How dare you," came my retort, and I stood angrily, clutching at my wand. My stomach twisted with anxiety and self-contempt. "An innocent child! I've never -- I would never -- !"

"I never suggested otherwise," Snape said piously, with a barely-hidden smirk. Withdrawing a phial from his pocket, he set it down on the table. "I'm afraid I won't have time to brew any more this week. Use it sparingly," he advised, and was gone.


	5. Chapter Four

I had all but driven thoughts of Sirius from my mind when, one night, screams rent the air. I jumped up from my desk so quickly that I sent my teacup flying; it smashed against the wall, leaving sharp shards of china resting amid small puddles of lukewarm Earl Grey. My candles tipped over, their flames spilling down against the parchment of my classroom notes, crackling as they devoured the carefully written pages. A gush of water burst forth from my wand at my urging, and I left the sodden mess behind me as I ran for the door.

A number of students milled about on the stairway, clogging the entrance to Gryffindor tower. The majority looked simply confused, or even bored, slouching against the bannisters and engaging in idle, after dinner talk and jostling one another for admittance into the common room. I saw Percy Weasley's white face, however, standing out in shock from his bright red hair, and knew there was something wrong. A cluster of older students, Penelope Clearwater among them, shouted for help, calling out for Dumbledore and McGonagall, the Head of House.

"What's going on?" I demanded. I had to force my normally soft voice to shout in order to be heard at all above the excited din of student voices. A number of elbows struck me in the ribs as I started to push past the waiting throng, but soon enough the students recognised a teacher in their midst and let me pass, falling silent. "Percy?"

"P -- Professor Lupin," came Percy's nervous tenor as he beckoned me to move forward. He lit the tip of his wand with a mumbled spell, despite the fact that I could see clearly. Motioning to something behind him that he was apparently trying to hide with his body, he frowned. "Something's happened. I think someone's broken in --"

"None of that," I interrupted him quickly. I shivered; my skin crawled. Percy's words were meaningless; I could already smell Sirius' presence on the landing. Although he plainly no longer wore the cologne of his youth, I could smell his skin beneath the dirt and sweat that must have covered him. How could I miss it, when I had breathed in his fragrance night after night, in school and out, always no more than a few feet from him in the night? "You'll create a panic," I barked at Percy. "Round up these students, will you? Move them off the landing, get them somewhere safe. Appoint a prefect to locate Professor Dumbledore." I whipped my wand out, clenching it in one tight fist. "Go!" I urged him as he stood there, gaping blankly at me.

He moved aside and I took his place, staring at the portrait that guarded the door to the tower. It was in shambles. The frame was all splintered wood, the sharp, jagged bits pointing outward, as though it had been attacked with some brutal, thoughtless force. The canvas of the painting itself had been slashed, either by a knife or Padfoot's razor-sharp claws. The Fat Lady who normally perched serenely within the painting was gone.

My heart thumped a discordant beat in my chest, hammering against my rib cage as though fighting for escape. I could smell him, all around me, that phantom Sirius that had haunted my dreams and memories for so long. I swore I could feel the sizzle of his skin, mere inches from mine, his outstretched hand waiting to grab my shoulder, maybe tilt my chin back for a kiss against the exposed flesh of my neck.

It was my duty to help those bewildered students huddled together on the stairs, a number of which had left off joking with one another and were staring now at Percy, who bossed them with his most commanding tone. Every which way I looked, however, all I saw was him; here a glint of blue-black hair; there his worn leather jacket, prized possession of a number of forays into the Muggle world. Heat rose within me and panic beat wings against my breast; I pushed past a knot of fifth years, ordering Percy to stand guard and keep the students clear of the picture. I bounded down the stairs on the trail of the man I loved and hated all at once.

Within me a baying wolf awoke. I hurried on, the blood surging through my veins, my mind whipped into a frenzy at the thought of my quarry. How I managed to stay on two legs instead of one, I'm not sure; for the first time in my life the wolf rose to the surface without the moon's lullaby. I smelled the big black dog, his matted, dew-glossed fur and rapid, panting breath. I scented the man, Sirius in his ragged prison clothes, full of rage and, inexplicably, tears. I could read his desperation on the stain of sweat that hung in the air, and I misplaced it totally. Like everyone else, I had become accustomed to the rumours that he planned to hunt Harry, despite the audacity of the statement. I assumed that had been his purpose.

Sirius' trail led through the wide front door, which was being sealed as I passed beneath it, guarded by a number of gates and bolts and fences. I took this to mean Dumbledore had taken charge, and my feet ran faster, now that I was no longer duty-bound to turn back and shelter the confused children above. My shoes slipped on the wet grass and I kicked them off, charging stocking-footed across the lawn, towards the lake. Then, for the first time in thirteen years I saw him; the real him, cast in flesh and bone instead of newspaper clippings. My legs failed me, and I slipped forward, falling on my hands and knees before him.

He was completely different from the young man I remembered. His dark, glossy hair was matted, hanging down his back in tangles. The sculpted face I once touched with infinite delicacy was starkly pale and streaked with grime. He huddled gaunt before me, heaving for breath, his prison clothes slipping from his shoulders, panting and seething in the cold air.

"Sirius," his name escaped my lips before I had time to think, as if it was torn from me by the sheer force of seeing him there, so suddenly, without warning.

He jerked upright, peering at me intently over his shoulder. His eyes were as wide as saucers, yet still familiar, the grey of gathering clouds, utterly fathomless. One hand shook as he brushed aside a lock of hair and stared at me, drinking in my face. For a moment, I thought he would speak to me. His cracked lips parted, but he remained mute. Shaking all over, he suddenly fell down to his hands, and instantly transformed to the shape of a dog. He bounded over me, running towards the Forbidden Forest.

"No!" I screamed against the howling wind. "Wait! Sirius, please!" Panic rose within me, and I ran after him, my hands outstretched as though to snatch him back to my side. At that moment, the hatred I'd had for what he had become faded to a dull, mutinous whisper in the back of my mind. Lily's serene face was driven from my thoughts by forceful memories of Sirius: his arm around my shoulders, one hand mussing my hair playfully. Aching, I staggered after him. "Sirius!"

Padfoot hovered near a patch of reeds on the edge of the murky lake. Dark water rippled forth, wetting his fur, and his paws sank a few centimetres in the oozing black mud. Whimpering, he lowered his muzzle to the ground, shaking his head softly back and forth. His eyes were wide and wet, begging to be understood. I took a step towards him, and abruptly he was gone, his long legs leaping away from me.

"No! No! Come back!" I staggered forward, sliding a bit in the slippery mud. Lake water seeped into my socks. Anguish, desperate and undeniable, filled me, and heavy tears traced courses down my cheeks, leaving salt trails on my skin. My eyes burned, but I lunged in the direction of the forest anyway, reaching out blindly, hoping to catch hold of his hand.

A thick branch smacked me across the face, leaving a thin, bloody cut across the bridge of my nose. Wincing, I moved on, pushing tree limbs out of my path as best I could, wrenching myself across the forest floor with my arms out for balance. Twice, I made out a dark, canine shape before me, which I assumed was Sirius, but no matter how fast I ran, he eluded me. Finally, a fair distance from the castle, he Disapparated with a crack.

Flailing, I found the spot where he had vanished and sank down to my knees, my hands searching the soft bed of moss as though I hoped to find him in there. My pain at losing him yet again mingled with a new, bolder anger, and I screamed my misery and hatred to the cloudy sky above, a grim wolf's howl that echoed through the thick overgrowth of the woods. Finally, my energy exhausted, I slumped forward, resting my head on a layer of rotting leaves, breathing in the rich, loamy scent of the dirt beneath my face. My hands clutched convulsively at Sirius' memory, and I gritted my teeth so hard my jaw ached.

It was hours later when I finally found myself staggering back into the castle, tired and sore, my breathing irregular, marked by hitching sobs. Filch let me in with a glare, sizing me up with obvious suspicion as he pulled open a wrought-iron gate. He slammed it behind me as soon as I'd passed, locking it with formidable chains. His greedy eyes watched me as I moved painfully towards the stairs.

"They're all in the Great Hall," he informed me, his voice rusty and cruel. "Students and teachers alike. The staff have been searching the castle for hours, but they've found no sign of him." Looking me over, he gloated. "We were attacked tonight by Sirius Black," he pronounced with relish, licking his thin lips. "But you already knew that, didn't you, Lupin?"

Ignoring him, I shuffled past, heading for the Great Hall. My numb, frozen fingers sought out my wand, and I called up a cleansing spell from memory that siphoned the majority of the dirt from my clothes and skin. Gingerly, I touched the scratches across my face. They hurt a bit, but I left them there to mark me. Feeling Filch's eyes boring into the back of my skull, I moved on, forcing my tired limbs to keep going.

All of the tables in the Great Hall were gone. Students slept in uniform squashy sleeping bags, under the illusion of a dazzling night sky flecked with stars and the gently fluttering House banners. It was dark save for the artificial starlight, but I could make out the forms of a few teachers milling about, their wands held stiffly before them as they patrolled the students, silencing whispers and stilling the rumours that spread in their wake. I noticed Dumbledore in conversation with Severus; my name came up, but I turned away before I was near enough to be spotted, not wanting to hear the condemnation or be forced to explain myself. Quietly, I turned from them and slipped away to my quarters, with the intention of being alone.


End file.
